


take another chance of screwing it up

by lesbeauan



Series: tumblr kiss prompts TWO! [2]
Category: Young Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, First Kiss, kate is GAY, opens w them beating the shit out of masques minions tho so like, tw for violence, very gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 06:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20484632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesbeauan/pseuds/lesbeauan
Summary: amerikate + 40. hoping not to be caught for @arielabarers on tumblrtitle all i want is to be your girl/holly miranda





	take another chance of screwing it up

Kate missed this.

She missed the adrenaline of the chase, of putting the pieces together on her corkboard until all of the red yarn came to a single pin in the center—she missed fighting the bad guys with her best friends by her side, namely, a star-spangled bitch with a punch that could knock out God.

So the fact that she’s back-to-back with America Chavez right now is basically the best thing ever. 

Kate releases the arrow she had nocked, catching one of Madame Masque’s henchmen by the shoulder. America behind her sends one of them to God, probably, or maybe just the next planet over with a swift boot to his chin—Kate doesn’t see how far he flies, but she does know he shoots out of her periphery, probably never to be seen again. She hopes he finds a better job that doesn’t involve being on the boot-end of America. 

“Another point, Chavez.”

“How many is that now? It’s hard to keep track.”

“Like, twenty billion more than me, probably.”

“I believe your number is still zero, princess.”

Kate nocks another arrow, aiming for the slightly larger man that looks a little nervous about this whole thing. He might be side-eyeing the exit. She can’t tell. 

“To be fair, I don’t usually throw people across the room. I just fill them with sticks.”

“So whose dumb-ass idea was it again to have this contest?” 

“Mine,” Kate says, sighing in disappointment, firing her arrow and watching it strike true. Ouchie. 

“And who decided the loser had to buy dinner?” America says the last syllable with a grunt, punching another dude into three more of his buddies, looking like something out of a slapstick comedy, honestly.

“Mine,” Kate says again.  _ Because I really want to buy you dinner, even though I’m broke as shit, because I love spending time with you and I miss you and I don’t know how to be a person sometimes.  _

America just rolls her shoulders, sending a jolt through Kate—it’s distracting enough to her that she doesn’t notice the next guy aiming a  _ crack!  _ at her nose until it’s too late—it made a horrible, horrible crunching sound, and now she can barely see through the blood pouring out of her face.

“Oh, for the love of—”

America sweeps Kate’s knees together and grabs her by the shoulders, bridal style, and leaps into the air above them, hovering for a few moments before apparently just deciding fuck it, and braces her shoulders around Kate, plunging straight through the glass ceiling. 

Kate’s stomach never fails to drop seeing nothingness beneath her, despite the many times that America has lifted her, now. It’s always dizzying, terrifying, and a little nauseating thinking of what would happen if America were to drop her. Of course, she has super strength and has said Kate isn’t much heavier than a cat, comparably, but still. It makes her woozy. 

The glass falls around them harmlessly, thanks to America’s handy-dandy invulnerability, so it’s just a straight shot from Masque’s tower to… wherever America is going. Her eyes are watering too much to really see where she’s flying, so it’s hard to judge, but Kate can see the coast in the distance, the dark water lapping at the shore, and then America drops down quickly to the sandy beach.

Kate’s knees feel wobbly on the ground, and she’s a little embarrassed at how much she’s clutching America’s shoulders, but to be fair, this happens every time America flies her anywhere. Really, she’s the one having a reasonable reaction to being three hundred feet above the ground with absolutely nothing between her and the pavement except one person’s hands. 

“ _ Princesa,  _ every time?” America rolls her eyes, but Kate notes that her hands on Kate’s back are as steady as ever, braced for a fall. 

“Yes, every time, Chavez. I usually fly coach.”

“You haven’t been able to afford a plane ticket, like, ever,” America points out. “In fact I’m pretty sure at this point you’ve flown with me more than on a plane, so…”

Kate sticks her tongue out in lieu of a response, which is somewhat garish with the blood still dribbling out of her nose, and she can taste the metallic tang of it along with the salty breeze. America laughs a little at her, wiping the blood with her thumb and letting her hand fall away from Kate, wiping it on her jacket. 

“You are so gross.”

“You know me well, Chavez.” Kate looks around—the time is late, and the only light around them is the street lamps a few yards away on the sidewalk, blinking every now and then from poor circuiting. The sky is cloudless, the beach is quiet, and the only people for at least a mile are her and America.

“Why didn’t you take us back to my place?” Kate asks, frowning.

America shrugs. “Couldn’t remember where it was. Also, Masque probably expects you to be there, and definitely already sent her dudes there. You’re safer out here.”

“So considerate,” Kate says with an overly gushy tone.

America rolls her eyes for the second time. “I  _ could  _ put you back…” 

Kate sighs. “Thank you, America Chavez, for saving me from a royal butt-kicking by the, like, thirty guys that were probably going to mug me and give Masque all my money. She’s very rude like that.”

“ _ No problema,  _ Bishop. Anything for a friend.”

_ A friend  _ rings deep into Kate’s stomach—her best friend is here, and she couldn’t want for more, but something, something twists it into a bittersweet taste.  _ A friend.  _

A word hangs on Kate’s lips. A word, a phrase, a question, an answer. It dies before she can even begin to ask it. 

“Will Masque find us here?” Kate asks.

America shrugs. “Probably someone saw us, but it’ll be a second before anyone will come after us.”

Kate nods to herself, thinking. It’ll be a few days before she can return home safely—but tonight, the stars are out, a rare sight on the West coast. She barely even notices her fingers still twisted into America’s shirt, barely even notices the breeze on her legs until the hairs tickle. 

America’s face scrunches up, and Kate knows that expression—the one that means  _ I care about you too much to ignore this, but I’m way too cool to ask you if you’re okay, ‘cause emotional vulnerability sucks, or something.  _ “You look like shit, Kate.”

“Thanks. Probably has something to do with the fact that Madam Masque just kicked the shit out of us and I can’t even go home and take a shower.”

America gestures to the ocean. “Free water right there, princess.”

“Gross. Saltwater clogs my pores.” 

The exchange feels charged, forced—but Kate can’t make it  _ not.  _ She has to force herself to smile at America, force herself to swallow down the butterflies that are threatening the guillotine in her stomach, has to casually wipe her palm on her pants that,  _ fuck,  _ this is still her Hawkeye outfit so the fabric doesn’t absorb. Worst decision of hers ever, honestly. 

She’s a trainwreck, and the worst part is, this is the person she’s most comfortable with in the whole world. Not Cassie, not Billy, not even Clint—America is her  _ best  _ friend, the person she hangs out with on breaks and eats gross chips with and skinny dips with and gets drunk and watches movies with. She’s seen America grieving, more overjoyed than ever, naked, shitfaced, and everything in between. America’s seen the same of her. So why is her heart in her throat?

_ I’ve seen the way you look at me, princess. You’re not that straight.  _

** _What people do you care about so much on this earth?_ **

_ Wouldn’t you like to know, princess?  _

Kate wishes she knew what spun in her own head, what feelings were churning in her stomach that weren’t there before, or maybe they were, and she doesn’t know up from down anymore and everything’s a mess and she’s probably going to regret this tomorrow but. But. 

She’ll blame it on the blood loss later.

Kate takes her other hand, the one not wrapped in America’s shirt, and threads it through America’s hair, leaning in until she can see every speck in her eyes, until she can see every pore in her skin, until Kate has to close her eyes because she might throw up from her stomach being knotted so tight. 

She expects America to push her away, to tell her to leave, to say that she’s wrong or she misinterpreted everything. But she doesn’t, and Kate lets her lips softly, softly press into America’s own. 

The kiss lingers for one, two, three seconds, and America hasn’t moved, so Kate lets her heels come down and she looks up at her.

America’s face is completely, utterly unreadable. 

Kate opens her mouth, about to ask if this was a mistake, about to cry or explode or just die right there on the spot from shame and guilt and every other confusing and conflicting thing racing through her at that moment, but America closes the gap again, this time reaching down to her and taking both hands to the hair at the base of Kate’s neck, clutching it tightly and  _ oh, oh, oh.  _ This is what a kiss is supposed to feel like. 

Everything falls into place. 

America is so warm, and her breathing is so right, and Kate just melts into her, melts into this feeling, lets her and America’s lips just collide over and over again. The kisses last forever, each one more blissful than the last, and Kate forgets everything she ever knew and ever wanted and ever cared about, ready to just fall apart at the seams under America’s touch. It’s so perfect, so right, so, so euphoric that Kate can’t help but think she was quite literally made for this exact moment. This was her purpose, her goal, and it’s finally fulfilled. 

It doesn’t matter that Masque’s men will find them here.  _ Let them come,  _ she thinks. America will just take her somewhere else, and again, and again, as many times as it takes—it feels like she’s poured her whole life into America’s palms, and maybe she already did forever ago, but she’s only just realizing it now when the last edges of her self control have been swept away. 

After a hundred years or a single breath, it’s hard to tell, America pulls away, and Kate can’t stop herself from chasing her lips, just a little. It’s hard not to want more. 

But her eyes flutter open to see America looking at her with that same unreadable expression, except this time, Kate can understand it clearly—want. She wants Kate, and it hits Kate like a splash of water to the face. She has wanted Kate for a long time. 

“You’re  _ so  _ not cool anymore,” Kate whispers with the widest grin of her life, feeling like a queen on a mountain of gold. 

“And you’re so totally in love, princess,” America says with a matching stupid-giddy smile that Kate wants to see over and over and over again for the rest of her life. She could bathe in that smile. 

“Maybe so, Chavez. Where do you wanna get dinner?”


End file.
